


Gratitude

by MiyabiDreams



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Drinking & Talking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiyabiDreams/pseuds/MiyabiDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old work. Like 2 years old at time of posting on AO3 old. Old OTP. Old writing. Ooooooooooold. Also one of the author's more popular works on dA.</p><p>A Dai and his Novice reminisce over wine and smoke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

The bureau was silent, bereft even of the scratching of Malik's pen in the late evening. The rooms had been cleaned, everything organized to the point that anyone dropping in would have thought nobody'd been here in decades. The door to the back room was shut and locked and in one corner sat the Dai, arm on his knees, head down as he seethed in silence. The idiots lately...they were everywhere! From completely random attacks on the roof to people dropping in from nowhere and asking to be part of the brotherhood...it was almost more than he could stand. So he'd shut himself away, lest he should explode at some unlucky novice.

Altaïr was surprised to see the roof entrance to the Bureau shut and locked. Normally this only happened after he'd blundered his way through an assignment and led the city guards too close. Perhaps Malik left for the day...ah well, there was always the _other_ entrance. It was the other entrance he wasn't supposed to use, but it was going to rain soon, and he needed shelter before he ran his next mission. Altaïr climbed back down and slunk through the dark streets to the carefully concealed side door, hidden behind a bench and a painted mural; tapping until he found the right stones that acted as depressors, sliding the door away by some means unknown to him, Altair ducked inside and immediately shivered. It was cold and dark, so totally unlike what he was used to. Where were the warm, spicy scents of incense, where was the sound of muted grumbling and the scratching of a quill across paper? "Malik?" Altair called out softly, his hand immediately on his dagger, in case there was trouble. "Brother, where are you?"

A quiet, hissed swear from the corner of the assassins' rest area signaled his position. He did nothing to conceal the susurrus of his robe as he shifted and rose, leveling a glare at Altaïr that the man probably didn't deserve. He would have asked what the man was doing here, given he'd already completed his last mission, but a look outside earlier that day had told him everything he needed to know. With a deep, tired sigh he ran his hand over his face and stepped out into full view. "What is it you want of me, novice? I've had a trying day and your presence does little to fix that."

"Safety and peace," Altaïr said, watching Malik with a wary eye. "I'm only here because it is going to rain soon and I have no wish to get wet." Malik's tone was unsettling. He sounded angry and Altaïr knew from experience that it was never a good idea to hang about when Malik was angry. It wasn't even a good idea to remain in the Bureau, either, but he had no other place to go. "Why is the roof entrance locked?" Altaïr asked, irritated about that detail now that he found the Dai to be within.

"Why else would one lock a door? To keep people out that have no right to be here," he snapped, lip curling back from his teeth. A muscle in one grizzled cheek jumped slightly as his hand went to the empty space where his arm had once been, a quiet sigh leaving him as he shook his head. As much as he wanted to take out his frustration on someone, the assassin had done nothing to deserve it...yet, at least. "Why not go back to Masyaf? The ride is not so long that you could not beat the rain..."

"It is already dark out," Altaïr shrugged, "and I couldn't be bothered to find a fresh horse. I also thought you would enjoy the chance to berate me some more. Had I known you wanted to be left alone I would have sought shelter elsewhere, but now..." He lowered himself to the floor with a groan, close by Malik but not so close that the other man would be able to strike him. The last thing he needed was another physical lashing to match the one Malik delivered with his sharp tongue.

The Dai wilted somewhat at Altaïr's dejected posture and once more rubbed his hand over his face, then kneaded the space between his brows with thumb and forefinger. He held himself back from saying anything more, instead stepping over to the assassin's side and giving him a light cuff over the head. "At least go to the cushions...I have something," he muttered then retreated to his desk, digging beneath it for a moment then bringing up a large, sparsely-decorated wine jug.

Altaïr didn't try to stop the grin that spread across his face, and obediently got to his feet. "Should have known you'd keep so much to yourself," he said, his tone light and teasing compared to the ominous crack of thunder overhead. "Let me carry it, at least. I know you must have goblets somewhere down there as well." Altaïr had no gift with him except for his own charming company, but he had a pouch of shisha in his belt for the hookah and he would share it with Malik for the evening to help ease whatever stress the Dai was feeling.

Nodding once, Malik left the jug on the surface of his desk before retrieving a pair of goblets from underneath. He took them both in his hand and nodded his head over to the cushions situated for the visiting assassins, reaching over into the corner and pulling over the pipe that had apparently been recently cleaned. He sank down on crossed legs and placed the hookah between himself and his friend, looking up at Altaïr with raised brows as he reached up for the wine. "Tell me, novice, are you still water soluble?"

"You are very funny," Altaïr said dryly, plopping down with less grace than Malik. The rug was soft and the pillows were sweet smelling and clean when he leaned against them. It was almost enough to make him brush Malik's jibe off. "How about you tell me what it is that's got you so upset that you close the Bureau door to all those who seek sanctuary? You may feel better."

"I am when I want to be," he replied with a small, vague smirk. Then his head shook slightly as he poured the fresh wine into the goblets for the two of them, handing one over to Altaïr and looking the man in the face. "More people know of our position here even if they know not what it is we do...There are people entering through the roof and asking me for help when I can do nothing, or rifling through my things when I've asked them to leave. I have stayed my blade thus far but much more of it and I would have-" Malik cut off as he made a rather violent gesture in the air. Then he sank back and sighed. "I believe that some day soon I may wish to find another job..."

"And what kind of job would you be looking for?" Altaïr asked, giving Malik a raised eyebrow look. Rafiqs and Dai did not just seek out other jobs- they either retired or moved up in rank. Malik was a brilliant cartographer. He was intelligent and quick on his feet, and despite the loss of his arm he was still a formidable fighter. But what could he possibly do other than Bureau work? Altaïr clenched his fist around the stem of his goblet and took a deep sip. He did not want Malik to leave.

"I have yet to think of that, but I will figure it out eventually." Malik waved his goblet a bit then took a long swallow, sighing quietly as he relaxed against the wall, a pair of cushions propped behind his back. His tongue moved across his chapped upper lip thoughtfully as he stared down into the contents of his cup. "A bit of peace would be infinitely welcome after all that I...that we have gone through."

Altaïr took another long sip from his goblet before setting it aside and picking up the hose of the hookah. "I like you right here," he said. "I mean, I prefer it if you were to stay here in Jerusalem." The next best option would be, of course, for Malik to come back to Masyaf for good, but Jerusalem was large and needed an experienced Dai. Malik was young for his position, but he was very clever, and he did his job very well. 

Malik welcomed the distraction of the pipe, rocking forward as he watched Altaïr prepare it. "You would be one of the few who acknowledges what I do here. Most just come...pick up assignments or information, and are gone. It is almost enough to make one feel invisible." He smiled bitterly and took the hose of the pipe from Altair's fingers and took a deep pull, eyes drifting closed.

Altaïr watched Malik breathe in the shisha and felt a familiar tug in his chest. This was exactly why he wanted Malik to come back to Masyaf. He didn't want his friend to be alone anymore, didn't want him to live this life. The reason Al Mualim had sent Malik to Jerusalem in the first place was so he would be forgotten. This was just as much a punishment as it was a reward. "I wish I could make life easier for you," Altaïr said, staring at Malik's closed eyes. "I don't know how but...maybe there's a way to ease the burden of your work...and perhaps a way to make sure you receive more appreciation for your work."

Malik's head began to swim slightly under the rather comfortable blanket of the shisha, his eyes fluttering open and turning to observe the assassin beside him. Though he wouldn't admit it openly, the presence of his closest friend was a great comfort to him; moreover, in spite of the dangers that usually followed the man around every corner, he felt just that little bit safer. But then again it might just have been to do with having someone so familiar so close, within arm's reach. He clamped his teeth on the pipe once more and attempted to stave off the sudden urge to take hold of Altaïr's robes andwhat? He shook his head unconsciously to ward off the thought that had been pestering him in the idle hours.

Altaïr removed the pipe from Malik's hand and took a swift breath, inhaling the exotic smoke and trying not to choke. It was a little stronger than usual, but it tasted fine. Malik was giving him a strange look with heavily lidded eyes that made his heart beat faster. Why? It wasn't like him, unless it was the hookah getting to him. "I think the smoke is getting to you," Altaïr said, shaking the hose a little, like he was admonishing Malik for being a lightweight. "Maybe you should consider the fact that you're getting too old for this kind of thing." Though his gaze was very serious, his tone was light and teasing and he nudged Malik's knee with his own to get the other to at least crack a smile.

Malik gave a mock outraged look to his friend, reaching out and punching his leg lightly. "I'm only a year older than you, novice! If I am old, then so are you." His expression shifted into an awkward smile, something fairly alien to his usual demeanor. It melted away soon after as he looked back into Altaïr's face, picking up his goblet and taking another deep swallow of his wine.

There was that look again. What was Malik trying to say? Those eyes of his were so expressive. Altaïr smiled a bit and leaned back into his pillows. "Come back to Masyaf with me," he said suddenly. "Come back home and live in the castle. You can do all your work there and no one will disrespect you while I am around. You will receive all the thanks and all the appreciation you deserve." As he spoke, he moved his hands expressively, touching Malik's knee and then his hand. 

There was a tightening in the Dai's chest at Altaïr's touch over his hand and a flush rose unbidden in his cheeks. He bit back a rather snide comment in favor of gazing down the length of the other man's arm, to where their hands lay. Tentatively, Malik's hand shift to take hold of his friend's, giving it a soft squeeze as he gave a quiet, slightly irritable sigh. "Do you think I've not considered that? But regardless of what little acknowledgement I receive or what my hopes might be, my position here is important. Or so I would like to think."

"It is important, my friend," Altaïr said softly. He squeezed Malik's hand and ran his thumb over the knuckles. Malik's hand was tough and ink-stained. No matter what time of day Altaïr saw him, his fingers almost always stained. He could not imagine anything else. He did not want Malik to find another job and leave Jerusalem or the Bureau...or him. " _You_ are important," Altair said.

"And so are you," Malik murmured as he shifted forward slowly, the combination of wine, hookah and his own pent frustrations driving him onward over the point of no return. His lips crushed softly against Altaïr's, his hand pulling up to tangle into the front of the assassin's robe. His eyes closed as his tongue slipped out, tasting the smoke on the man's lips before pulling back slightly and looking up at him with a faint blush.

Altaïr was left his mouth hanging open and his tongue numb. He thirsted for more. Inexplicably, he wanted Malik to kiss him again. It had felt _right_. He tossed aside his goblet and knocked the hookah over as he reached over and curled his fingers through the hair on the back of Malik's head. He renewed the kiss with vigor, pulling his friend close, ignoring his blush. It didn't matter what they did now. Who was there to stop them?

Malik's breath hitched slightly as the action bordering on frenzy pushed aside his worries. Altair was his now and he sought to make this that much more evident as he bit down into the man's lower lip before pulling back and attacking his neck with soft, moist kisses and bites, hand moving over the front of Altaïr's robe and pulling it open, allowing his hand to move inside over hot, scarred skin.

Altaïr rolled onto his back as Malik kissed his neck and throat, gasping when he felt a warm hand on his ribs. He tried to twist the Dai robes from Malik's shoulders to get to his tunic beneath, and when he felt the heat radiating from dark skin he licked his lips in anticipation. Was this what he had been missing? Was this what he saw every time he chanced a look into Malik's eyes? Their friendship and loyalty...did it all boil down to this moment? He didn't know, but he very much wanted to find out. "Malik," he gasped beneath the barrage of fiery kisses, tugging uselessly at his friend's robes, "Allah help me, get this thing _off_ before I rip it!"

Malik drew back, already dark eyes only growing deeper with pent lust and unbound affection for the man beneath him as he stood up on his knees, pulling off the black Dai robe and throwing it into the corner then deftly pulling open the front of his tunic. He reached back over his head to pull the material off, leaving it with his robe as he leaned back down to continue his assault on Altaïr's neck and chest. His single hand moved over the toned muscle of the assassin's side, blunted, ink-stained nails grazing along his skin.

Altaïr cursed when Malik pulled his tunic off, his hands immediately splaying flat against the hardened muscles of his stomach. He had missed the sight of Malik stripped down like this, as he used to be whenever they sparred together. That past was so long ago, and this Malik, his chest bare, this was a different life now and Altaïr couldn't focus on his memories. He spread his legs to allow Malik more room, grinding up against him to encourage his actions. He ran his hands up and down Malik's chest, fingers pinching and pulling taut nipples. "Amazing," Altaïr grumbled at the sight. "Just amazing..."

Malik's flush grew bright as he felt calloused fingers teasing and pinching his nipples, jaw clenching slightly to fight back the moan that threatened to escape him. His head bowed as his teeth wrapped around one of Altair's nipples in return, tongue moving over the perked nub while his hand moved down, pulling at the assassin's belt then tossing it off to the side. His hips ground down into Altair's, his arousal growing increasingly evident the further they progressed until he was panting with need.

Altaïr felt Malik's length against his belly; how could he not? The man was thick and hard and grinding against him so wantonly it was a surprise the rest of his clothes didn't just burn away. Altaïr moaned tightly when Malik's thigh pressed against his own member, the ridge of muscle along the top popping with Malik's movements. "Mal..." Altaïr groaned, moving to kiss him roughly. He bucked up and started to fumble with the ties of his own pants, wanting them _off_. He needed to feel the heat between them, needed to feel skin against skin, needed the friction as badly as he needed air to breathe. God, they couldn't stop now, couldn't stop because if they did he knew he'd die.

Malik pulled back, teeth torturing Altaïr's heated flesh as he hooked his fingers into the waist of the assassin's pants, yanking them down roughly and just barely biting back a moan at the shaft laying against his hip. He pushed forward, his one hand wrapping around the pulsing muscle to stroke slowly, grip tight as his thumb ran over the head. It wasn't long before his own length joined Altaïr's, a long, lust-filled groan wringing from his throat. "A-Altair..."

Altaïr sat up quickly and pushed Malik off of him. He kicked his boots off then pulled Malik free of the rest of his garments. His skin was sweltering with a lust fever and was dark and smooth. Scars littered his body from missions taken years ago. Altaïr ran a finger down one and kissed the hollow of Malik's throat. "I need you," he whispered against musky-scented flesh. He could say no more. What else was there to say? He had never been a man of many words, or even a man of very intelligent words. That was Malik's area of expertise. Altaïr best knew how to act, and so it was with action that he showed his affection and desire for the man now beneath him, his hands caressing and smoothing over ever inch of skin he could touch, finally stopping to wrap around the base of Malik's thick need and pumping hard.

A quiet, choked cry fell from Malik's lips as his back arched up, hips thrusting into Altaïr's hand as his eyes squeezed shut. His shoulderblades dug into the cushions beneath him as he writhed slightly, straddled between the assassin's legs. His hand moved up the length of Altaïr's leanly muscled abdomen to rest at his neck, ordinarily hard eyes dimmed and softened as he gazed at the man overhead. It was like a dream, the tanned, scarred vision above him but with every touch, every hot breath over his skin, he lost himself more in the reality that he now had Altaïr and decided right then that he would not let him go. Not after so long keeping himself _to_ himself. "Altaïr...I...ah!" Malik's back arched as a sensitive place on his skin was brushed by surprisingly talented lips.

The sounds coming from Malik's lips were sounds Altaïr never even _dreamed_ of hearing, and oh, they sounded so sweet. His hand was getting tired from pumping Malik so hard, but he wanted to make him feel everything he had to offer, everything he had to _give_. This was a man who had given up everything because of him...it was the least Altaïr could do, to give him the most pleasure he could muster. His own member throbbed and ached from lack of stimulation and Altaïr was at a loss for what to do next. He knew, theoretically, how men lay together, but to actually perform the act was sobering. He would not cause further harm to Malik. "What do you want?" he whispered, his voice little more than a ragged gasp. He cupped Malik's rough cheek and turned his head to look him in the eye. "Tell me what you need," Altaïr pleaded, his nails digging into the other's thigh.

Malik looked hard into Altaïr's eyes as his breath shuddered in his chest, his hand moving up from the man's neck to lay against his jaw, thumb running over the ridge of his cheekbone as he leaned up, lips barely brushing over the cup of the assassin's ear. "I want to take you...make you mine. Mark you in ways nobody ever has..." His voice was low, hoarse as he spoke, barely above a whisper. He tore his eyes away from Altaïr's face, closing them as he leaned up and closed his teeth gently on the crook of the younger man's neck as he sucked just hard enough to raise a mark.

"Oh..." Altaïr closed his eyes and shuddered as he felt Malik's teeth against his neck again. He could tear his throat out if he so chose, but he did not. Instead, he pressed harsh, biting, scraping kisses against his skin, marking him, burning him, _branding_ him. Altaïr gulped and nodded shakily. "Alright," he agreed, laying back against the pillows. "Make me yours," he challenged, his bright eyes glowing fiercely in the dim light of the room.

Malik's eyes closed tight as he fought back yet another low groan, his teeth biting in harder against Altaïr's neck until he forced himself to draw back, looking down at the man beneath him. His hand moved to his own achingly hard shaft, palm rubbing across the head where fluid was already pooling. His fingers grew coated in the slick, bitter substance and as he leaned back down and pressed his lips into Altaïr's stomach, a single finger felt along the cleft of his buttocks to toy with the tight ring of muscle between. The digit was forced in slowly, haltingly as he tried to remain gentle; the last thing he wanted was to ruin this by injuring his friend.

Altaïr sucked in a sharp breath at the touch of Malik's finger. He immediately wanted to tense and flinch away, but his desire for his friend outweighed his fear of the unknown. He forced his body to relax and spread his legs wider, hooking his hands behind his knees to give Malik better access to what he was doing. His cock bobbed and twitched against his belly, precum dribbling from the head to pool right below his belly button. It was hard not to moan when he felt Malik prod harder and then begin to insert his finger further. It was not pain that he felt, but a strange sort of pressure that he somehow knew could not be satisfied with one finger alone. Altaïr gasped and shifted his hips, hands removed from his knees to seek a hold elsewhere. "Malik," he moaned, "Mal...it feels so...so very..." There were no words to describe how it felt besides empty, burning, and full, and Altaïr had no use for any of them. He needed something _more_. "Help me!" he growled, tossing his head back and arching his back.

"As you wish," Malik growled, leaning down and running his tongue through the pool of precum on the assassin's stomach as he added a second finger to the one inside Altaïr's body, trying to remember what little he knew about anatomy as he curled his fingers to brush over the small, hard lump of the man's prostate. The reaction that this would elicit had him flushing darkly, adoring the sounds coming from the man beneath him. It was better than he'd dreamed, so much more satisfying and he hadn't even moved forward to completely claim his friend. At that thought, Malik pulled his fingers back and pressed the head of his throbbing, weeping erection against Altaïr's entrance, taking his time as he pressed in with his body propped up on his elbow. "Dear Allah...you're still so tight..."

Altaïr had raised himself up on his heels when Malik added a second finger, and when that place inside of him was touched, that place he hadn't even known about, he yelled, his hands immediately reaching out to clutch Malik's thighs, blunt nails raking red lines across dark skin as he scratched and clawed. What had that been? What had that _been_?! He had never felt such pleasure before, such a blinding, white hot sensation he swore he almost passed out...and that was just the beginning of it! He moaned Malik's name a dozen times, each sounding more reverential than the last, and when he felt the thick head of Malik's member against his entrance, he groaned low and tried to sit up to watch. "Just do it," he demanded, glaring at the other when he said he was tight. "Damn you, Malik," he ground out through grit teeth, "I won't break now...do it!"

"You are always so impatient," he growled as he hooked his arm around Altaïr's thigh and lifted him up, giving himself a better angle with the assassin's leg up against his shoulder. At further urging he shoved forward to the hilt, his throat drying as he choked out a louder moan than intended. His vision grew hazy around the edges as he forced his hips down into Altaïr's hard then began to move, just barely at first then building, over and over nearly pulling out completely before slamming back into him. The head of his cock brushed hard over that spot inside the assassin's body with every pass. As the pace steadied, Malik's nails dug into the muscle of Altaïr's thigh, bringing up angry red furrows along the tanned skin.

Altaïr lost his capability of speech when Malik took his command to heart and slammed in. _There_ , that was the feeling he was looking for, that feeling of utter fullnessof feeling complete. He rubbed his hands hard against Malik's shoulders, squeezing his flesh and moaning when he found his voice again. The next moment he almost became mute once more as Malik began to thrust in and out. Each time Malik brushed against that spot inside of him he wished he had known of sooner, and each time he either saw the stars or the sun and the moon. Everything was white behind his closed eyelids, and it was all he could do not to cum as he twisted about, hooking his knee over Malik's shoulder and trying to bring him even closer. "Harder," he begged, his mouth open and round like an 'o', his dick quivering in anticipation. "Ohgo--allah, Malik, I need you harder now, please, god, oh...!"

Malik relished Altaïr's voice as he panted, moaning obscenely as he lifted himself up on his knees, arm wrapped around the assassin's thigh as he forced himself to thrust harder, faster, the sound of slapping skin filling the bureau. His hand wrapped around the shaft bobbing in front of him and gave a squeeze with every pump as he stroked Altaïr closer to his climax. The throbbing of his cock inside the other's body signaled he was growing terribly close, eyes rolled up into his head as his mind blanked out with the sheer pleasure wracking his body. It wasn't too much longer before Malik gave a final, hard thrust and froze, back arched as he pulsed inside Altaïr's body and emptied long, hot ropes of his essence inside him.

Altaïr fisted his hand over Malik's and assisted him in jacking off, because there was no way he was wasn't going to finish now. He felt Malik inside of him, felt him _releasing_ inside of him and it felt strange and pleasurable, made him feel owned and wanted, made him want it again, already. Altaïr reached up with his other arm and grabbed Malik by the scruff of his neck to pull him down for another kiss. He pushed his tongue past the other's lips and rolled it against the insides of his cheeks, sucking on Malik's tongue as he jerked himself off. With a muffled groan he finally came, his cum flecking across his muscled stomach and chest. His back twisted as he bucked and arched during one of the most intense orgasms of his life, and when it was over he relaxed again, feeling limp and lifeless. "Allah," he inhaled before kissing Malik again. "I don't...that was... _Malik_..."

Malik's groan was quiet, breathless as he finally felt Altaïr's spasms beneath him until they were both able to settle down, his head coming to rest against the assassin's shoulder. His lips pressed tender, lingering kisses over slowly cooling flesh, his hand coming up from between them and laying on the floor beside them. When he could finally trust himself to speak, he looked up into Altaïr's face with a small, crooked smile. "You were...amazing..."

Altaïr rubbed his hand up and down Malik's back, soothing him with touch alone, for his voice seemed to be completely disconnected from his tongue. His throat felt raw from moaning, and he did not trust himself to form coherent words to begin with...but he returned the smile and ran his hand through Malik's inky black hair. "You did all the work," he shot back, and sure enough he sounded like an old man with a scratchy voice. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "thank you, Malik. I never thought...I don't know where we stand now...or what you may feel, but I know that the moment I am able, I _will_ show you exactly how grateful I am for your 'assistance'."

Malik's head turned to brush his lips over the palm of Altaïr's hand, his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at his friend...no, his lover. "I have wanted to be able to do something, anything for you to bring you closer..." His head fell against the assassin's shoulder as he shifted down just enough to ease himself out of the man's body, wincing a little then nuzzling his head into Altaïr's neck. "You are so very precious to me...in spite of everything."


End file.
